Page 1 of A Fighter’s Love

Prologue

Dale

The taut muscles in Jackson’s back flexed and bulged as he beat the punch bag. His sweat-damp skin was golden and flawless, his shoulders broad and strong. He had a full sleeve tattoo on his right arm, a swirling design of dragons and flames. As he continued to pound the bag, he huffed and puffed, his teeth gritted, and his focus remained unwavering.

Dale had never seen a more beautiful man.

And he’s mine. All mine.

Dale slugged on a bottle of water, averting his attention from Jackson’s workout so as not to arouse suspicion. He didn’t want anyone to see the blatant desire in his eyes.

As Dale paced back and forth, studying the floor and catching his breath from his own workout, Jackson continued to throw what could be lethal punches. The sound of his fists on the leather snapped around the gym. He grunted a few times, the sort of delicious, throaty grunts that made Dale’s belly tense and his cock tingle. They were primitive, guttural; he didn’t hold back.

Just the way he doesn’t hold back when we’re together, alone.

Dale wiped the end of the towel wrapped around his neck over his forehead. He was glad he’d finished his training session. At the end of a busy day on the construction site, it had been a hard slog at the gym, mainly cardio, and he was ready for a shower then something to eat.

But he’d wait for Jackson.

Why the hell not?

The chance to be naked with the club’s star fighter in the communal shower was too hot an opportunity to miss, even though it was risky.

“That’ll do you, Jackson,” Michael said, his cheeks red from holding the punch bag Jackson had been pounding.

Jackson stepped back and dropped his hands to his sides. “You okay, gov?” He was panting and each time he drew breath the muscles in his abdomen became even more defined beneath his gleaming skin.

“Course I am,” Michael said with a frown.

Dale smiled. Michael was in denial about getting old. And why not? He was seventy now but still, he’d forgotten more about boxing than Dale would ever know. Dale had the utmost respect for him, as did Jackson. Michael was also pretty damn fit for his age—his body was concrete strength from his toes to his little fingers.

Jackson wiped his forearm over his brow, then snatched the end of his glove tie with his teeth. He tugged, loosened it, and yanked it off.

“Here.” Dale chucked Jackson a fresh bottle of water which he caught with his now free hand.

“Cheers.” Jackson drank without looking Dale’s way. As he swallowed his Adam’s apple bobbed, and the dark stubble on his neck sparkled with sweat.

Dale’s mouth watered. He wanted to nuzzle his face there, kiss, lick, inhale the scent of him. Jackson’s pheromones did crazy things to Dale’s body—wild sexy things he didn’t think he’d ever get enough of.

Dale turned away, drawing in a deep breath as his belly tightened and a quiver attacked his asshole.

“Hey, Dale, how’s it going?” Billy said, whacking Dale’s shoulder.

Dale stepped away with a frown. He didn’t like being near Billy, let alone have physical contact with him.

“So how’d you think our champ is gonna cope with Grinder?” Billy asked Michael.

“Got a while yet before we need to know the answer to that,” Michael said. He tugged up the base of his t-shirt and used it to wipe his perspiring face. It was a habit Dale had watched him repeat many times over the four years he’d known him.

“Not really, it’s only a few weeks away. I’ve gotta get a handle on this. We’re starting with the heavy promo now. Gonna be big bucks this one and the club will be quid’s in by the end of it.” Billy snorted. “Plus, I need to know who to put my money on.”

“We back Jackson,” Dale said with a frown. “He’s in our club and we stick together.” And, he added in his head, if we didn’t think he’d absolutely pummel Grinder into the floor then he shouldn’t be fighting him in the first place. That’s the way it had to be, absolute determination, certainty, commitment and steel-hard belief not just from the fighter but those around him who were supporting him physically and mentally.

“Yeah, well, you do what you want with your money.” Billy shrugged. “I’m a businessman. I’m going for the line of most return.”

“It won’t be a problem,” Jackson said, tugging at his other glove. “Training is on track. Plus I hear Grinder has an injury.”

“Oh?” Dale said. That was news to him. “What’s up?”

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